


Game of Lies

by Justbelievinginmagic



Category: mark fischbach - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Who Killed Markiplier?, could be shippy, i dont know yet, lets see, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justbelievinginmagic/pseuds/Justbelievinginmagic
Summary: “What’s the occasion? Just wanted us to bet our money away?” The woman questioned.Her eyebrows pursed together, painted lips pressing together in contemplation. It was strange how out of the blue the invitation had been. She hadn’t seen Mark in years. Damien was really the only other she had seen as of late, but even that had been a few months now.“Come on, taking the money of my most trusted friends?” he queried dramatically. “Yeah, right. You’ll see later. Enjoy the champagne, Isabel.”Who Killed Markiplier? but with another character thrown in the mess. Will things turn out differently with her influence? Does she know what truly is happening? i AM BAD WITH SUMMARIES APPARENTLY.





	Game of Lies

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Markiplier or any of the videos this is inspired off of. I legit only own one character, and that's Isabel. Cool? Cool.

Mansions weren’t her style. Glitz and glam looked pretty from the exterior, but underneath it all there was something lurking. Something she knew she didn’t want. She usually penned it up to simply greed or envy; some sort of sin that hid in the beauty of wealth and fortune. But even she couldn’t deny how beautiful the mansion was in the dimming twilight. The clinking of her heels across finely taken care of stonework echoed in her loneliness. The gown she was wearing, a dark red velvet, a gift from an old friend, swishing lightly. An old friend she was once more visiting.

Markiplier Manor. A fine estate owned by Markiplier. But she simply knew him as Mark. The grounds were beyond gorgeous yet there was something ancient in this house. She had yet to come here; his rise of wealth happening too recent for her to have visited him beforehand. This mansion though looked. . . old. Old and beautiful like old photographs. It was stuck in a time before theirs despite the upgrades it had done to it. Towering and looming over her, she simply claimed it was the light. The dimming light that made her feel like she wasn’t alone.

A rustle.

The brunette glanced over her shoulder, curls tumbling behind her to look back at the bare driveway that had shadows beginning to form on every corner. Her gaze took in the atmosphere. Chest rising and falling with anticipation. Trick of the light, there was nothing out there. There wasn’t. Just an animal skittering about in the hills.

Turning back around, she took a breath, hand tousling her hair lightly. A small hand rose to knock on the door to the house yet, before her knuckles could touch the smooth wood in a rap, the door was opened by a finely dress butler. A man she could recall oh so faintly.

“Benjamin,” she smiled at him.

“Miss Isabel, bonjour,” he greeted, making a fond smile flicker on her lips.

“Bonjour, here is my invitation,” she replied, passing the letter off.

Isabel had no idea why the letter had to have her status ‘Heiress’ on it. It was written on it with the finest cursive. Ironic how she did not find pleasure in the finer things in life, isn’t it? She had been surrounded by it for her entire lifetime that it felt both familiar and wrong. Her family left her with far too much money that while she could buy whatever her heart desires she found it did not matter in the end. Friendship mattered. Which was the exact reason she was here tonight.

Walking into the house, her eyes glanced up at the large chandelier. The exterior had been large, almost like a castle. The interior felt modern and furnished in dark woods and sparkling chandeliers.

“I’ll bring you a drink, Madame. For luck at the table tonight,” Benjamin continued, taking the letter and giving her a playful wink which made a soft chuckle bubble from her lips.

Walking into the grand hallway, she was greeted by warmth. Dark undertones danced across the room contrasted with the pearly white tile beneath the warm lamp light. And then she spotted the two men, an unknown gentleman and the Mayor. Approaching the two softly, the Mayor was the first to spot her. And a bright-eyed charming smile came over his face like a flicker of a lamp.

“Oh, Isabel.” He beamed approaching her. His movements were confident and yet kind in the same manner, and, before she knew it, she was embraced in a cologne-scented hug. It was a hug she could claim only Damien, Mark, and one other seemed to be able to give her. It was a firm yet encompassing hug. One that made her feel wanted, missed. Burying her head softly into his chest, her arms wrapped around him. A hand rubbed his back fondly.

“Mister Mayor,” she replied into his suited chest, cheek squished against the fine material.

“I haven’t seen you since—” His voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear.

“Since the fundraisers I know,” she finished, squeezing him one last time before pulling away. His charming smile was still present on his lips, making her own form on her painted lips.

“I couldn’t have done all of this without you,” Damien reminded, gesturing to the button pinned oh so regally to his suit.

“You’ll be protecting this great city, my friend, it is worth my aid,” she reasoned, a hand reaching out to squeeze his hand.

Damien and her had known one another as long as they had known Mark. The group of friends met at University. All so different yet so similar to become close friends. She once assumed it was her wealth that drew them in. Now, she knew it truly did not matter even with Damien thanking her.

“We’ll talk later, go see Mark,” he replied, a hand gesturing towards the next hallway away from the formal living room.

Isabel nodded, and turned away to walk through the doorway. If she could’ve felt a gaze, she would have known that Damien’s eyes did not falter from her form as she walked away.

Swaying hips, sparkling fabric draped over her form, the woman turned the corner only to stumble into the dining room. Brightly lit with a large deep mahogany table starring in the room. A chandelier rested above it, twinkling bright and true. In the room, there was one other. And not the one she thought she’d fine.

The chef. If you could call him that. He was a short man, aged with wrinkles and long locks of braided and loose hair over his shoulder. Fierce eyes met hers and he lifted a soup ladle at her as if threatening her.

“Listen, lady, I am gettin’ the appetizers when I want to, not when you do.” His gruff tone left his mouth as fierce as his appearance, making her take a step back.

He began to walk away, step after step closer to the kitchen only to turn around about to yell, when there was a loud clearing of a throat.

“We shouldn’t be rude to our guests,” the voice suggested, firm yet so open.

A hand went to rest on her shoulder as if reminding the Chef that she was a guest.

The Chef simply scowled deeply and walked into the kitchen mumbling under his breath something barely understandable but containing the word ‘fuck’.

Without glancing back, she knew exactly who it was. So much, that she didn’t flinch under his hand.

“Isabel.” He said, the hand on her should softly turning her around. The one, the only, Markiplier. He looked different in her eyes. His face looked aged. His smile still beamed at her despite this. A light in the dark. Something was strange about him, but he still smiled at her. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Humble?” she teased which made Mark’s head tilt down slightly, a snort of a laugh leaving his lips.

“Yeah, it’s a bit much,” he agreed, hand patting the wall almost fondly. “But I’m glad you could make it, Miss Heiress.”

There was no ill will in his tone; Mark always joked around.

“What’s the occasion? Just wanted us to bet our money away?” The woman questioned. Her eye brows pursed together, painted lips pressing together in contemplation. It was strange how out of the blue the invitation had been. She hadn’t seen Mark in years. Damien was really the only other she had seen as of late, but even that had been a few months now.

“Come on, taking the money of my most trusted friends?” he queried dramatically. “Yeah, right. You’ll see later. Enjoy the champagne, Isabel.”

And with that, he grinned brightly before jovially walking back up the stairs. She hadn't even noticed his robed self. Without even a moment to spare, Benjamin appeared so obediently with a single flute of champagne for her.

Her thanks were on the tip of her tongue when the door was opened with grandeur.


End file.
